


Enkindled Spring

by greenapricot



Series: Invisible Leaf [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, Morseverse Spring Fic Challenge 2019, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 05:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18584857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/pseuds/greenapricot
Summary: A large bird with a tail similar to a swallow is soaring overhead, James’ gaze hasn’t left it since he finished his sandwich. I wonder if he’s remembering how it feels to soar through the air, the sun warming his back and wings. It’s a sight I’d very much like to see.





	Enkindled Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Invisible Leaf. This will make more sense if you've read that but probably not no sense if you haven’t. 
> 
> Written for the Morseverse Spring Fic Challenge 2019. Title from and fic inspired by The Enkindled Spring by D. H. Lawrence, though the fic came out much less angsty than the poem. 
> 
> Many thanks to Jack, as always, for the beta, Brit-pick, and encouragement.

James finishes his sandwich and stuffs the paper wrapping into the pocket of his coat, his arm brushing mine as he does. He leans back against the bench to gaze up at the clear blue sky and stretches his long legs out in front of him. It’s just about warm enough to sit outside in the direct sun with our coats buttoned up, but not warm enough for the cafes to have deployed their outside tables. The sandwiches are from one of those cafes, but sitting outside on a bench instead of inside where we could take off our coats is at James’ insistence. 

To look at him you’d think it was a lot warmer than it is. James is all but basking, his face turned up to the sun. Who am I to deny him something that leaves him looking almost content in the middle of a workday?

Our sandwiches finished, we sit for a bit, James watching the sky and me watching him. He stretches his arms along the back of the bench, one hand dangling off the far end and the other behind my back; a brief touch to the back of my neck, then my shoulder as he settles. It’s not altogether different to how we always sat before we became more than inspector and sergeant to each other. Yet at the same time, it’s entirely different. 

A large bird with a tail similar to a swallow is soaring overhead, James’ gaze hasn’t left it since he finished his sandwich. I wonder if he’s remembering how it feels to soar through the air, the sun warming his back and wings. It’s a sight I’d very much like to see. 

“Red kite,” James says, gesturing upward when he realises I’ve been watching him watch the bird. “You can tell by the distinctive forked tail and black feathers on the wing tips.” 

“Never used to see them when I first moved down here.” 

“You wouldn’t have. They were essentially extinct in the wild before reintroduction began in the early 90s. The preservation of red kites is one of the UK’s most successful conservation efforts.”

I can’t help but smile at this little lesson. He smiles back.

“You could be up there too,” I say, as the kite turns and swoops on the wind.

James sighs, tilting his head back against the bench. If we were sitting on the sofa at my flat he’d be slouching down into the cushions, staring up at the ceiling to avoid my eyes. He squints into the sun and shakes his head. 

“It’s not that simple,” he says. 

“Isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous soaring above the city with the kites.”

“Aye, but surely there are other places?”

James shrugs, his shoulder nudging mine.

I refrain from bringing up the possibility of James living openly and not binding his wings. It has yet to go well when I do. The new binding spell he’s developed has proved to be less painful and take less energy for him to maintain than the old spell. I can see this has lifted some of the weight he’s been carrying, literally and figuratively. I like to think I’ve had some part in the lifting of that weight as well. That regular sex and the addition of my flat as somewhere he can be with his wings unbound has contributed to the general lightning of his mood these past months. 

James no longer looks wary when he unbinds in front of me, only relieved. And we have discovered—it came as a surprise to him as well after keeping himself hidden so long—that wings can be an erogenous zone. All the same, it doesn’t sit right that he should have wings yet go through life with them always hidden. At times, James still seems to take his wings and the binding of them as some sort of penance for a past wrong I’m sure he never committed. 

“When was the last time you flew?”

“Autumn.” James glances at me then up at the kite again, which has found a thermal and is now so high up in the sky it’s nothing but a black v against the blue. “Us winged folk may run warm, but flying bare-chested in winter is still a bit chilly.”

“Last autumn?”

James shakes his head. 

“The previous autumn?” 

He shakes his head again, glancing at me, looking sheepish. “The one before I joined the force. There aren’t many safe flying spots within a reasonable drive of Oxford,” he says as if that’s a reason, not an excuse. 

“You must miss it.”

“Mostly I don’t think about it. I’ve not had much opportunity to fly regularly as an adult.” James sighs, turning his face up to the sky, his look gone wistful and contemplative. “There really is nothing like it, though.”

* * * 

It’s a Saturday and we don’t have a case on, yet I am woken by a thumping from the direction of the drawers where James keeps his spare clothes when he stays over. The clock on the bedside table reads an unfriendly red 5:36. It’s not even properly light out, the sky outside the open curtains is the pale blue-grey of not quite dawn, but James is dressed with his wings bound. I had been looking forward to a lie-in, preferably with James in bed next to me. 

“Why?” I grumble.

“Ah, good,” James says, shutting the drawer and turning toward me. “I was going to wake you in a minute.”

“You know it’s Saturday, right?”

“I do,” he says, with a grin that shouldn’t be allowed this early in the morning. He leans in for a kiss but resists my efforts to pull him into bed. 

James stands, stepping out of my grasp. “Get up, it’s a long drive. I’ve made coffee and there are croissants.” 

“What’s a long drive?” 

“Wales.”

“Why on earth are we going to Wales?”

“It’s flying weather,” James says, flashing me an even bigger grin. “Wear your hiking boots,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks out the bedroom door.

Flying weather. Neither of us has mentioned flying since our conversation on the bench two weeks ago, but I’ve caught him stopped and gazing skyward every time a red kite appears overhead. 

James pokes his head around the doorframe again. “Come on. Get up! I’m driving, I just need you in the car.” 

As much as the bed is far more comfortable than the passenger seat of James’ car will be, seeing him so fired up spurs me out of bed and into the first shirt and pair of jeans I find. When I emerge into the kitchen with my hiking boots in tow, James hands me a perfect cup of coffee and a croissant on a plate. He looks toward me, then the table, his smile dimming a fraction.

“I can eat in the car,” I say.

“Excellent,” James replies, the smile back in full force. He takes the coffee mug from my hand, pours its contents into a travel mug, and hands it to me. He shoulders his rucksack and I grab the croissant off the plate and follow him out the door. 

By the time I’ve finished my coffee and croissant, we’re well out of Oxford heading west. James is chattering away about favourable temperature and wind conditions, that uncharacteristic smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. He navigates through a roundabout and I rest my hand on his thigh as he brings the car back up to speed. James flashes me a blinding grin as he focuses his attention on the road again. 

* * * 

We park the car at a lay-by and follow a thin trail that is nearly invisible from the road up into the hills, along a ridge, and down into a small valley. The hills rise up on all sides forming a sheltered bowl of green below the bright blue sky. There’s not a cloud in sight. On the far side of the valley sits one large perfectly formed tree, a haze of new yellowy-green leaves shrouding its branches. It’s still a mite chilly when we reach the stream that runs through the centre of the valley floor, but there is an underlying warmth to the day; one of those early spring days that holds the promise of summer. The chill won’t last long. 

James puts his rucksack down on a convenient rock and detaches the plaid blanket that’s secured to the back of it. It’s one of those fancy picnic blankets that’s got a waterproof layer on the underside. He spreads it out on the ground, taking off his coat and hoodie, dropping them on the blanket. 

I’ve become accustomed to watching James unbind his wings in my living room. It’s a welcome part of our daily routine, seeing the tension he holds in his shoulders dissipate as he shakes his wings out and stretches them across the room. But out here in a meadow dotted with wildflowers, below a cloudless blue sky, there is something more magical about the entire process than even the obvious magic used in the binding. 

This is how wings are meant to be seen. The sunlight reveals subtleties of colour that I’ve never noticed under artificial light, variegations and rusty reds in amongst the familiar warm browns and tans. With the green hills and blue sky behind him, James’ wings almost seem to glow. Each feather is a work of art in and of itself but when put all together; the way the lithe muscles of his torso move as he stretches his wings, his hair shining golden in the sunlight, the look of pure joy on his face, James is breathtaking. Stunning. Gorgeous. I’m glad, now that we’re here, that he’s driven us all the way to Wales before ten in the morning on a Saturday. 

A gentle breeze ruffles James’ feathers as he spreads his wings wide. Here, out in the open, his wingspan seems larger. It’s clear to me now that even in my flat, with its tall ceilings which offer better freedom of movement than James’ own flat, he still isn’t able to stretch out fully. It’s like I am really seeing him, all of him, for the first time. 

James gives a couple of good flaps, his feet coming up off the ground a few inches, then folds his wings behind his back and looks over at me. 

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.” 

James’ mouth curves into a smirk. “So you keep saying.”

“Must be true, then.”

“I suppose,” he says, walking across the grass toward me. James kisses my forehead, then my nose, then my lips, and grins down at me. 

I wrap my arms around him, sliding my fingers through his silky feathers. James gives a shudder of pleasure. “Well, am I going to get a flying demonstration or what?”

He looks toward the sun, then the other side of the valley. “Ten or fifteen minutes.” James points toward the far hills. “When the sun hits those rocks it creates a lovely updraft. It will make getting altitude easier. I’m out of shape.”

I run my hands along his bare arms. “Seems a fine shape to me.” 

James laughs, bright and clear in the country quiet. He steps away from me and kneels down next to his rucksack. He pulls out one of the specially altered shirts that fit around his wings and puts it on, then brings out a thermos of coffee and more croissants. 

“Second breakfast,” he says, filling a mug for me and offering me a croissant. 

As we eat we watch the sun move across the hills. Birds flit from the far tree to the nearby stream for a drink and a splash, singing their spring songs. James is still and calm in a way I’ve hardly ever seen him, gazing off into the middle distance, eating and sipping his coffee; none of the frenetic excitement of earlier, and none of his usual melancholy. Sitting here with the promise of flying so close to hand seems to have quietened the churning of his soul. 

The sun has been shining on those far rocks for a few minutes when James downs the last of his coffee and stands, shucking his shirt. He’s seen some sign that I haven’t. Maybe it’s a winged folk’s sense of air currents.

“Now?” I ask. 

“Now,” James confirms and smiles, somehow with his whole body.

He bends down to give me a quick kiss then walks a few paces away from the blanket. James extends his wings, testing the wind, and his posture changes, his entire body pointing toward the sky. With a couple of great flaps, his feet leave the ground. A rush of wind passes over me from the strength of the beat of his wings as he gains altitude. 

James lets out a whoop of pure joy once he’s airborne. He circles over the blanket and blows me a kiss before banking sideways and flying toward the rocks on the far side of the valley. It’s not until he’s passed the tree that I realise how far away it is and how fast he must be flying to get there so quickly. I wonder what his top speed is. 

I can see the moment he catches the updraft, spreading his wings and soaring upward, no longer needing to flap. He turns in an arc, tilting his wings to stay in the thermal, spiralling ever higher. It is exhilarating to watch, even earthbound as I am. The occasional whoop of joy filters across the valley to me as James plays on the wind—and that’s what he’s doing, the same as I’ve seen kites do soaring over Oxford—bringing his wings in over his back and diving down toward the valley floor, then banking into the thermal and soaring upward again. 

He moves like a bird of prey at the peak of his physical prowess, made for flight: strength and precision and awe-inspiring beauty. I don’t know how long he stays up there, but I do know that I could watch him fly all day and never tire of it. I could watch him fly for days, probably weeks. What a gift to see someone you love so happy. 

Someone I love. I should probably tell him that. That I love him, in those very words not in the ways I usually do that don’t spell it out. I can feel it in my chest, watching him, as if my love for him is soaring through the bright blue sky as well.

The day warms quickly, and though it is not objectively warm, it is warm enough on the blanket in the sun out of the wind that the contrast between today and the cold drizzle of the past week has me soon taking off my jacket and rolling up my shirt sleeves. By the time James turns to soar back toward me, I’ve taken off my shirt altogether and am wearing only my t-shirt. The sun on my bare arms feels wonderful, though not as wonderful as watching James fly.

James is as gorgeous on the return as he was flying away. More so even, because he is coming back to me. A downdraft catches him as he comes in for the landing. He lands hard stumbling and half running toward me with his wings outstretched to keep his balance, still that look of pure joy on his face. He holds out both hands and pulls me up off the blanket, spinning us both around, using his wings as leverage. 

His skin is flushed, his smile wide and beautiful and infectious. I want to kiss him, so I do. James returns the kiss with enthusiasm, laughing as our mouths meet. He tastes like the wind and spring and joy and other ridiculous things that can’t possibly be true. But that’s how it feels with James’ arms and wings wrapped around me. I can feel the joy radiating off him, the elation of flying, he is passing it along to me with his kisses.

“Thank you,” James says when he breaks the kiss, a bit breathless. I am too and I haven’t even been flying.

“For what?” I take a half a step away to get a proper look at him. He folds his wings down against his back.

“For coming with me.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“No, I—” James laughs. “I know, but you encouraged me to fly and you didn’t push it. You just let me… I’d forgotten how much I love it. I feel—” He shakes his head, looking down, a smile still playing at the corner of his lips. “It’s daft, but I feel whole again.”

I run my hands over his bare biceps and lean in for a quick kiss. “It’s not daft, lad. You’ve got wings, you’re meant to fly.”

James sighs. “Not everyone thinks that way.”

“Well, I do. The lot of them can bugger off. Anyone who could see you flying, see how much you enjoy it, and not see the rightness and beauty of it needs their head checked out.”

“You really are a wonder, Robbie Lewis,” James says, stepping closer again.

“You’re a wonder yourself, you daft sod.”

James grins, leaning in for another kiss. His skin is clammy with cooling sweat, yet not unpleasant. 

“I wish I could bring you up there with me,” he says.

“I wish you could too.”

James sighs, kissing my forehead. “How about some lunch as a consolation prize?” 

It better be a hell of a lunch. 

James goes over to his rucksack, pulling out a long padded cylinder, an insulated lunch bag, and a water bottle. He downs half of the water before he unzips the padded cylinder, which contains a bottle of prosecco, still chilled, with telescoping wine glasses that fold into the top. He hands me the lunch bag and I sit down on the blanket to begin removing its contents. It holds a range of cheeses and hard salamis, a jar of olives, some jams, and an array of posh biscuits. James circles his index finger around the top of the bottle of prosecco and the cork pops off just like that. 

“You’ve been using corkscrews all this time when you can do that?”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “You don’t need a corkscrew to open prosecco.”

“You know what I mean, the—” I twirl my finger around in an approximation of the spell he just did.

James shrugs, looking down to fill the glasses. “I don’t want to get too used to it since I can’t most of the time. This is a special occasion. Besides, most people who don’t have magic are uncomfortable with it.”

It’s a good thing I love him so much, with what I have to put up with. “Since when am I most people?”

“Fair point, but I— I didn’t want to risk scaring you off.”

“Not bloody likely. Have you forgotten last Friday night?”

James blushes, a dreamy look crossing his face. “Well, when you put it that way.”

“I love you, you daft sod. I’m not going anywhere.”

James’ face goes slack and he freezes for a moment, his hand holding the glass of prosecco out to me. “You do?”

“Of course, I do.” That’s not how I’d meant to tell him but now at least I’ve said it out loud. “I love you, James Hathaway.”

A look of delighted disbelief crosses James’ face. “I— I love you too.” 

James places the glass and the bottle on the rock next to him and crawls across the blanket toward me. He pushes me down on my back and gives me a thorough snogging. I give as good as I get, rolling him over onto his back, narrowly missing the lunch bag. He could easily have stopped me, especially with the extra leverage of his unbound wings, but he rolls over willingly, grinning up at me and working his hands under the hem of my t-shirt.

His skin and feathers are warmed from the sun and I’m torn between stripping him the rest of the way naked right here, and the fact that we are outside, essentially in public, despite the fact that the only other living creatures we’ve seen since we arrived are birds. That and there are rocks under the blanket, I can feel one digging into my knee. 

“I’m not sure my old bones are up for sex on a picnic blanket.”

He smirks up at me. “What about a blow job on a picnic blanket?”

“That counts as sex.” 

James groans, lifting his hips. He’s already half hard. I’m not much better off. “Shall I conjure us a bed?”

“Can you?”

“No,” he sighs. “Conjuring matter is beyond me I’m afraid.” He trails his fingers along my neck, tugging the collar of my t-shirt down, and leans up to bite at my collarbone. James’ stomach gives a loud growl and he laughs and flops back down on the blanket. 

“Worked up quite an appetite out there, did you?”

James smirks. “More than one sort of appetite.”

“How about you look up a B&B somewhere nearby on your phone and we spend the night?” I say. “You could fly again in the morning before we head home.” 

James hums, still smirking up at me. “And we won’t have to wait so long to continue this.” He punctuates his words with another roll of his hips.

“Exactly.” I bend down and kiss him one more time then climb off him, pulling the lunch bag toward me to remove the rest of the food. 

The picnic and the prosecco are delicious in a way that the individual items can’t account for. It’s this day; the warmth of the sun, James lounging next to me bare-chested, wings shining in the sun, the small smile that hasn’t left his lips since he landed. It warms me right through to see him so happy, it would even if the sun wasn’t also warming me. 

I’m tempted to reconsider my refusal of picnic blanket sex, but I can already feel that sitting on the ground all day isn’t doing my back any favours. There is a romantic part of me—which may be larger than I’m willing to admit out loud—that very much wants to wait for the B&B, like it’s an anniversary of sorts. 

After eating my fill, I lie down on the blanket and let the sun soak into my bones. A kite circles above us in the never-ending blue. I feel a strange affection for the bird as if it’s lead us here, though it can’t be any of the same birds we see over Oxford. Today is a gift.

“How did you find this place?” I ask, watching the kite bank toward the thermals James enjoyed so much.

“My aunt used to bring me here when I spent summers with her before she got sick,” James says, turning his head to follow the progress of the kite. “She was also winged,” he adds; an afterthought, something he doesn’t want to dwell on, but an important piece of the puzzle of James’ past that has slotted neatly into place. “She and my dad never really got on.”

I turn toward him, squinting into the sun, expecting to see the shutters drawn on his expression, but he looks relaxed, content. He meets my eyes. 

“She always said it should be a legal right for winged folk to have a safe place to fly. That we need it to be fully healthy.” He looks up at the sky again. “I always thought it should be a choice, to fly or not. We have legs that can run but that doesn’t mean we have to. But flying isn’t the same as running… it’s more like breathing. I’m not— She was right. You were right. I shouldn’t have denied myself so long.”

“I’m glad,” I say. James turns to me again, smiling that shy, pleased smile of his. The smile that always makes me want to kiss him. I cup his cheek in my hand a press a kiss to his lips. “I’m more than glad. Now up you get if you want to fly again before we find that B&B.”

The smile turns into a full-on grin. “Do you mind packing up while I do?”

“Not at all,” I say. 

James hops up, takes one step off the blanket and with a couple of strong beats of his wings takes off into the sky. He quickly reaches soaring altitude and flies straight for the thermals. 

I don’t pack anything up while he’s flying. I watch him. I can’t look away. It’s as if his joy at tilting through the wind is infusing the entire valley. I don’t want to miss a minute of it. When he lands we pack up together. 

_____

**Author's Note:**

> Everything James tells Robbie about the conservation of red kites is true.


End file.
